I Don't Mind
by rib
Summary: I know where you hide, and I know all of the things that make you who you are. Please don't try so hard to say good bye. K2


Title: I Don't Mind

Author: Aria Delanc

Summary: I know where you hide, and I know all of the things that make you who you are. Please don't try so hard to say good bye.

Rating: T

Pairings: KennyKyle, StanKyle, CartmanKyle, CraigKyle,

Disclamer: Naw. I'd have money if I owned South Park.

Notes: Written to Maroon 5's 'She Will Be Loved.'

This is now technically Kenny's birthday gift. Uh. Happy Birthday, Kenny! (According to my suck-ass, hurriedly-done calculation, he's 21. Can anyone justify this?)

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We can start this off with how beautiful you are, because that'll tend to pop up a few times here. And it's not even the kind of superficial beauty everyone expects Kenny McCormick to chase after, which is great because everyone always thought I'd end with some blonde slut with fake boobs and too much make up. Instead, I fall for my tiny, Jewish, green-eyed redhead of a best friend. But the funny thing is you tend to deny how gorgeous you are. No matter if I call your eyes emeralds; you'll say they look like crushed leaves. And I hate to admit it, but I can sometimes believe you.

So, we've known each other for about 12 years. Might not seem as long to you as it does to me, but maybe that's 'cause I die all the time. I've always been here, though ('cept that one time I was gone for a bit longer,) and I wish you'd notice that. When you outed to Stan back in ninth grade, and he completely ignored you for three months, I was there. When he finally accepted, then asked you out, I was there. When you broke up for the first, second, third time—all the way 'til last week's, I was there. When you had that brief and way bizarre thing with Cartman, I was there. When that asswipe Craig used you to make Tweek and Thomas jealous, I was there.

I moved back a month ago. I got tired of driving back to South Park each time. I don't ever tell you how tired I am when I arrive at your door—you always look worse than I do. I know how I manage to keep coming back.

I could come and sit here all the time. I don't give a damn how long I have to stay. It's always raining when you cry. Sometimes, you're waiting at the driveway, soaked, and you just get in my car and you don't say a word. Sometimes, you're smiling, but it's the broken kind that I can't stand. Do you get why I tell you to cry? You shouldn't ever hesitate to give me a call.

I tell you what I believe, and I get you to believe it too. I believe you're beautiful. I believe that you deserve better that what you've had. I believe that things won't always be perfect, and you've got to work some things out, sometimes. I don't show how unsure I am of what I say, because the smile I get out of you after talking shuts me up completely. Then you apologize for making me drive up here, and I end it with the same thing, each time, "I don't mind, dude," my heart's full, "door's always open. You can call anytime, okay?"

---

It was the worst I'd heard it. It almost made me hate Stan, but I knew how happy he could make you, and I couldn't. You told me I was too nice when I explained that to you. I've told you the same thing so many times.

Arriving at your house, Ike told me you'd gone out.

You were at Stark's, in your car, and I knew that you would be. You were staring at the wheel when I got there. I let myself in.

"Kyle?"

"M'sorry. Again."

"It's no problem."

After a few seconds of silence, you looked up at me, your eyes red and still overflowing. "I hate him," you started to hiccup, and I instinctively wrapped my arms around you.

I rubbed your back as you sobbed into my shoulder. I kissed your head and told you it was going to work out. It always did, in the end. You reached up and kissed me, and I kissed back. I told you how beautiful you are, and I told you how I actually felt, and I told you I love you with every fragment of my possibly immortal soul. You passed it off as me, trying to calm you down. I never know how long these things last, but I'll bet it's a bit long because it was dark when I let go.

You pulled away, nodding, still gasping softly. "Sorry. Thank you. Sorry. I—You can… If you want to go…" You went back to staring at the wheel.

And I knew I was supposed to stay there, because you don't mean it when you say good bye, no matter how hard you try to say it.

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You once told it was like falling. But I'm always here to catch you. And I don't mind at all if I have to keep catching you. Until you find someone who won't push you off, or until you realize I've been here all along. I don't mind.

---

How's that for unrealistic devotion, right?

Yeah. Uh. Nostalgia trip down Road-trip-memory Lane.

GAIS. U GAIS. It's my 22nd fic., and his birthday was on the 22nd! :D (This isn't relevant at all.)

Review, please.


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